CHAPTER XXX.
Though among the first to be arrested at the time of the panic before Montaignac, the Baron d'Escorval had not for an instant deluded himself with false hopes.
"I am a lost man," he thought.

And confronting death calmly, he now thought only of the danger that threatened his son.
His mistake before the judges was the result of his preoccupation.
He did not breathe freely until he saw Maurice led from the hall by Abbe Midon and the friendly officers, for he knew that his son would try to confess connection with the affair.
Then, calm and composed, with head erect, and steadfast eye, he listened to the death-sentence.
In the confusion that ensued in removing the prisoners from the hall, the baron found himself beside Chanlouineau, who had begun his noisy lamentations.
"Courage, my boy," he said, indignant at such apparent cowardice.
"Ah! it is easy to talk," whined the young farmer.
Then seeing that no one was observing them, he leaned toward the baron, and whispered: "It is for you I am working.

Save all your strength for to-night." Chanlouineau's words and burning glance surprised M.d'Escorval, but he attributed both to fear.

When the guards took him back to his cell, he threw himself upon his pallet, and before him rose that vision of the last hour, which is at once the hope and despair of those who are about to die.
He knew the terrible laws that govern a court-martial.

The next day--in a few hours--at dawn, perhaps, they would take him from his cell, place him in front of a squad of soldiers, an officer would lift his sword, and all would be over.
Then what was to become of his wife and his son?
His agony on thinking of these dear ones was terrible.